Children's Omnibus

by Ruskin Bond

  After a few more hairpin bends, the road descended steeply to the valley. Just then a stray mule ran into the middle of the road. Pritam swung the steering wheel over to the right to avoid the mule. The road turned sharply to the left, and the truck went over the edge.

  As it tipped over, hanging for a few seconds on the edge of the cliff, the labourers leapt from the back of the truck. It pitched forward, and as it struck a rock outcrop, the loose door burst open. Bisnu was thrown out.

  The truck hurtled forward, bouncing over the rocks, turning over on its side and rolling over twice before coming to rest against the trunk of a scraggy old oak tree. But for the tree, the truck would have plunged several hundred feet down to the bottom of the gorge.

  The labourers sat on the hillside, stunned and badly shaken. The other man had picked himself up and was running back to the quarry for help.

  Bisnu had landed in a bed of nettles. He was smarting all over, but he wasn't really hurt.

  His first impulse was to get up and run back to the road. Then he realised that Pritam was still in the truck.

  Bisnu skidded down the steep slope, calling out, "Pritam uncle, are you all right?"

  There was no answer.

  When Bisnu saw Pritam's arm and half his body jutting out of the open door of the truck, he feared the worst. It was a strange position, half in and half out. Bisnu was about to turn away and climb back up the hill, when he noticed that Pritam had opened a blackened and swollen eye. It looked straight up at Bisnu.

  "Are you alive?" whispered Bisnu, terrified.

  "What do you think?" muttered Pritam. He closed his eye again.

  When the contractor and his men arrived, it took them almost an hour to get Pritam Singh out of the wreckage of the truck, and another hour to get him to the hospital in the next big town. He had broken bones and fractured ribs and a dislocated shoulder. But the doctors said he was repairable — which was more than could be said for the truck.

  "So the truck's finished," said Pritam, when Bisnu came to see him after a couple of days. "Now I'll have to go home and live with my son. And what about you, boy? I can get you a job on a friend's truck."

  "No," said Bisnu, "I'll be going home soon."

  "And what will you do at home?"

  "I'll work on my land. It's better to grow things on the land than to blast things out of it."

  They were silent for some time.

  "There is something to be said for growing things," said Pritam. "But for that tree, the truck would have finished up at the foot of the mountain, and I wouldn't be here, all bandaged up and talking to you. It was the tree that saved me. Remember that, boy."

  "I'll remember. And I won't forget the dinner you promised me, either."

  It snowed during Bisnu's last night at the quarries. He slept near Chittru, in a large shed meant for the labourers. The wind blew the snow-flakes in at the entrance; it whistled down the deserted mountain pass. In the morning Bisnu opened his eyes to a world of dazzling whiteness. The snow was piled high against the walls of the shed, and they had some difficulty getting out.

  Bisnu joined Chittru at the tea-stall, drank a glass of hot sweet tea, and ate two buns. He said goodbye to Chittru and set out on the long march home. The road would be closed to traffic because of the heavy snow, and he would have to walk all the way.

  He trudged over the hills all day, stopping only at small villages to take refreshment. By nightfall he was still ten miles from home. But he had fallen in with other travellers, and with them he took shelter at an inn. They built a fire and crowded round it, and each man spoke of his home and fields and all were of the opinion that the snow and rain had come just in time to save the winter crops. Someone sang, and another told a ghost story. Feeling at home already, Bisnu fell asleep listening to their tales. In the morning they parted and went different ways.

  It was almost noon when Bisnu reached his village.

  The fields were covered with snow and the mountain stream was in spate. As he climbed the terraced fields to his house, he heard the sound of barking, and his mother's big black mastiff came bounding towards him over the snow. The dog jumped on him and licked his arms and then went bounding back to the house to tell the others.

  Puja saw him from the courtyard and ran indoors shouting, "Bisnu has come, my brother has come!"

  His mother ran out of the house, calling "Bisnu, Bisnu!"

  Bisnu came walking through the fields, and he did not hurry, he did not run; he wanted to savour the moment of his return, with his mother and sister smiling, waiting for him in front of the house. There was no need to hurry now. He would be with them for a long time, and the manager of the Picture Palace would have to find someone else for the summer season... It was his home, and these were his fields! Even the snow was his. When the snow melted he would clear the fields, and nourish them, and make them rich.

  He felt very big and very strong as he came striding over the land he loved.

  Grandfather's Private Zoo

  THE ADVENTURES OF TOTO

  randfather bought Toto from a tonga-driver for the sum of five rupees. The tonga-driver used to keep the little red monkey tied to a feeding-trough, and the monkey looked so out of place there that Grandfather decided he would add the little fellow to his private zoo.

  Toto was a pretty monkey. His bright eyes sparkled with mischief beneath deep-set eyebrows, and his teeth, which were a pearly white, were very often displayed in a smile that frightened the life out of elderly Anglo-Indian ladies. But his hands looked dried-up as though they had been pickled in the sun for many years. Yet his fingers were quick and wicked; and his tail, while adding to his good looks (Grandfather believed a tail would add to anyone's good looks), also served as a third hand. He could use it to hang from a branch; and it was capable of scooping up any delicacy that might be out of reach of his hands.

  Grandmother always fussed when Grandfather brought home some new bird or animal. So it was decided that Toto's presence should be kept a secret from her until she was in a particularly good mood. Grandfather and I put him away in a little closet opening into my bedroom wall, where he was tied securely — or so we thought — to a peg fastened into the wall.

  A few hours later, when Grandfather and I came back to release Toto, we found that the walls, which had been covered with some ornamental paper chosen by Grandfather, now stood out as naked brick and plaster. The peg in the wall had been wrenched from its socket, and my school blazer, which had been hanging there, was in shreds. I wondered what Grandmother would say. But Grandfather didn't worry; he seemed pleased with Toto's performance.

  "He's clever," said Grandfather. "Given time, I'm sure he could have tied the torn pieces of your blazer into a rope, and made his escape from the window!"

  His presence in the house still a secret, Toto was now transferred to a big cage in the servants' quarters where a number of Grandfather's pets lived very sociably together — a tortoise, a pair of rabbits, a tame squirrel and, for a while, my pet goat. But the monkey wouldn't allow any of his companions to sleep at night; so Grandfather, who had to leave Dehra Dun next day to collect his pension in Saharanpur, decided to take him along.

  Unfortunately I could not accompany Grandfather on that trip, but he told me about it afterwards. A big black canvas kit-bag was provided for Toto. This, with some straw at the bottom, became his new abode. When the strings of the bag were tied, there was no escape. Toto could not get his hands through the opening, and the canvas was too strong for him to bite his way through. His efforts to get out only had the effect of making the bag roll about on the floor or occasionally jump into the air — an exhibition that attracted a curious crowd of onlookers on the Dehra Dun railway platform.

  Toto remained in the bag as far as Saharanpur, but while Grandfather was producing his ticket at the railway-turnstile, Toto suddenly poked his head out of the bag and gave the ticket-collector a wide grin.

  The poor man was taken aback; but, with great presence of
mind and much to Grandfather's annoyance, he said, "Sir, you have a dog with you. You'll have to pay for it accordingly."

  In vain did Grandfather take Toto out of the bag; in vain did he try to prove that a monkey did not qualify as a dog, or even as a quadruped. Toto was classified a dog by the ticket-collector; and three rupees was the sum handed over as his fare.

  Then Grandfather, just to get his own back, took from his pocket our pet tortoise, and said, "What must I pay for this, since you charge for all animals?"

  The ticket-collector looked closely at the tortoise, prodded it with his forefinger, gave Grandfather a pleased and triumphant look, and said, "No charge. It is not a dog."

  When Toto was finally accepted by Grandmother he was given a comfortable home in the stable, where he had for a companion the family donkey, Nana. On Toto's first night in the stable, Grandfather paid him a visit to see if he was comfortable. To his surprise he found Nana, without apparent cause, pulling at her tether and trying to keep her head as far as possible from a bundle of hay.

  Grandfather gave Nana a slap across her haunches, and she jerked back, dragging Toto with her. He had fastened on to her long ears with his sharp little teeth.

  Toto and Nana never became friends.

  A great treat for Toto during cold winter evenings was the large bowl of warm water given him by Grandmother for his bath. He would cunningly test the temperature with his hand, then gradually step into the bath, first one foot, then the other (as he had seen me doing), until he was in the water up to his neck. Once comfortable, he would take the soap in his hands or feet, and rub himself all over. When the water became cold, he would get out and run as quickly as he could to the kitchen-fire in order to dry himself. If anyone laughed at him during this performance, Toto's feelings would be hurt and he would refuse to go on with his bath.

  One day Toto nearly succeeded in boiling himself alive.

  A large kitchen kettle had been left on the fire to boil for tea. And Toto, finding himself with nothing better to do, decided to remove the lid. Finding the water just warm enough for a bath, he got in, with his head sticking out from the open kettle. This was just fine for a while, until the water began to boil. Toto then raised himself a little; but, finding it cold outside, sat down again. He continued hopping up and down for some time, until Grandmother arrived and hauled him, half-boiled, out of the kettle.

  If there is a part of the brain especially devoted to mischief, that part was largely developed in Toto. He was always tearing things to pieces. Whenever one of my aunts came near him, he made every effort to get hold of her dress and tear a hole in it.

  One day, at lunch-time, a large dish of pullao-rice stood in the centre of the dining-table. We entered the room to find Toto stuffing himself with rice. My grandmother screamed — and Toto threw a plate at her. One of my aunts rushed forward — and received a glass of water in the face. When Grandfather arrived, Toto picked up the dish of pullao and made his exit through a window. We found him in the branches of the jackfruit tree, the dish still in his arms. He remained there all afternoon, eating slowly through the rice, determined on finishing every grain. And then, in order to spite Grandmother, who had screamed at him, he threw the dish down from the tree, and chattered with delight when it broke into a hundred pieces.

  Obviously Toto was not the sort of pet we could keep for long. Even Grandfather realised that. We were not well-to-do, and could not afford the frequent loss of dishes, clothes, curtains and wallpaper. So Grandfather found the tonga-driver, and sold Toto back to him — for only three rupees.

  THE CONCEITED PYTHON

  here was one pet which Grandfather could not keep for very long. Grandmother was tolerant of some birds and animals, but she drew the line at reptiles. Even a chameleon as sweet-tempered as Henry (we will come to him later) made her blood run cold. Grandfather should have known that there was little chance of being allowed to keep a python.

  He never could resist buying unusual pets, and while we still had Toto, he paid a snake-charmer in the bazar only four rupees for the young four-foot python that was on display to a crowd of eager boys and girls. Grandfather impressed the gathering by slinging the python over his shoulders and walking home with it.

  The first to see them arrive was Toto, swinging from a branch of the jack-fruit tree. One look at the python, ancient enemy of his race, and he fled into the house, squealing with fright. The noise brought Grandmother on to the verandah, where she nearly fainted at the sight of the python curled round Grandfather's throat.

  "It will strangle you to death," she cried. "Get rid of it at once!"

  "Nonsense!" said Grandfather. "He's only a young fellow — he'll soon get used to us."

  "He might, indeed," said Grandmother, "but I have no intention of getting used to him. And you know your cousin Mabel is coming to stay with us tomorrow. She'll leave the minute she knows there's a snake in the house."

  "Well, perhaps we should show it to her as soon as she arrives," said Grandfather, who did not look forward to the visits of relatives any more than I did.

  'You'll do no such thing," said Grandmother.

  "Well, I can't let it loose in the garden. It might find its way into the poultry house, and then where would we be?"

  "Oh, how irritating you are!" grumbled Grandmother. "Lock the thing in the bathroom, then go out and find the man you bought it from, and get him to come here and collect it."

  And so, in my awestruck presence, Grandfather took the python into the bathroom and placed it in the tub. After closing the door on it, be gave me a sad look.

  "Perhaps Grandmother is right this time," he said. "After all, we don't want the snake to get hold of Toto. And it's sure to be very hungry."

  He hurried off to the bazar to look for the snake-charmer, and was gone for about two hours, while Grandmother paced up and down the verandah. When Grandfather returned, looking crestfallen, we knew he had not been able to find the snake-charmer.

  "Well, then, kindly take it away yourself," said Grandmother. "Leave it in the jungle across the river-bed."

  "All right, but let me feed it first," said Grandfather. He produced a plucked chicken (in those days you could get a chicken for less than a rupee), and went into the bathroom, followed, in single file, by myself, Grandmother, and the cook and gardener.

  Grandfather opened the door and stepped into the room. I peeped round his legs, while the others stayed well behind. We could not see the python anywhere.

  "He's gone/' announced Grandfather.

  "He couldn't have gone far," said Grandmother. "Look under the tub."

  We looked under the tub, but the python was not there. Then Grandfather went to the window. "We left it open," he said. "He must have gone this way."

  A careful search was made of the house, the kitchen, the garden, the stable and the poultry shed; but the python could not be found anywhere.

  "He must have gone over the garden wall," said Grandfather. "He'll be well away by now."

  "I certainly hope so," said Grandmother, with a look of relief.

  Aunt Mabel arrived the next day for a three-week visit, and for a couple of days Grandfather and I were a little worried in case the python made a sudden appearance; but on the third day, when he did not show up, we felt sure that he had gone for good.

  And then, towards evening, we were startled by a scream from the garden. Seconds later Aunt Mabel came flying up the verandah steps, looking as though she had seen the devil himself.

  "In the guava tree!" she gasped. "I was reaching for a guava when I saw it staring at me. The look in its eyes! As though it would eat me alive..."

  "Calm down, my dear," urged Grandmother, sprinkling eau-de-cologne over my aunt. "Tell us, what did you see?"

  "A snake!" sobbed Aunt Mabel. "A great boa-constrictor. It must have been twenty feet long! In the guava tree. Its eyes were terrible. And it looked at me in such a queer way...."

  My grandparents exchanged glances, and Grandfather said: "I'll g
o out and kill it." Taking hold of an umbrella, he sallied forth into the garden. But when he got to the guava tree, the python had gone.

  "Aunt Mabel must have frightened it away," I said.

  "Hush," said Grandfather. "We mustn't speak of your aunt in that way." But his eyes were alive with laughter.

  After this incident, the python began to make a number of appearances, always in the most unexpected places. Aunt Mabel had another fit when she saw him emerge from beneath a cushion. She packed her bags and left.

  The hunt continued.

  One morning I saw the python curled up on the dressing-table, gazing at his own reflection in the mirror. I went for Grandfather, but by the time we returned to the room the python had moved on. He was seen in the garden, and once the cook saw him crawling up the iron ladder to .the roof. Then we found him on the dressing-table a second time, admiring himself in the mirror. Evidently he was fascinated by his own reflection.

  "All the attention he's getting has probably made him conceited," said Grandfather.

  "He's trying to look better for Aunt Mabel," I said. (I regretted this remark because Grandmother overheard and held up my pocket money for the rest of the week.)

  "Anyway, now we know his weakness," said Grandfather.

  "Are you trying to be funny too?" said Grandmother.

  "I didn't mean Aunt Mabel," explained Grandfather. "The python is becoming vain, so it should be easier to catch him."

  Grandfather set about preparing a large cage, with a mirror at one end. In the cage he left a juicy chicken and several other tasty things. The opening was fitted up with a trap-door.

  Aunt Mabel had already left by the time we set up the trap, but we had to go on with the project because we could not have the python prowling about the house indefinitely. A python's bite is not poisonous, but it can swallow a live monkey, and it can be a risky playmate for a small boy.

  For a few days nothing happened; and then, as I was leaving for school one morning, I saw the python in the cage. He had eaten everything left out for him, and was curled up in front of the mirror, with something that resembled a smile on his face — if you can imagine a python smiling.